Thirty Two Strong

Thirty two strong we stand, the soldiers in white, our shield of enamel, glistening. Thirty two strong we stand undaunted, sixteen in a row, on either side of the gorge. guarding the entry for many years, masticating, all who dare to enter. Our ranks, no one can break or escape, without a once over and some unfortunate ones, we cast out rather unceremoniously.

First we were just twenty and they called us the milk teeth , not nearly so strong, not so remarkable. Our opponents then, mushy and soft, were easy to crush, easy to devour . Then within the first few years, we dropped out one by one, to be replaced by our unbreakable self, the thirty two strong . The four holding the posterior ends of each row, two up and two down, are considered the mantle of wisdom, and arrive rather late.

Our names you may find interesting, they describe our role in the unit . The incisors come first, eight of them in the centre, four in the upper row and four below. Woe to the one, who takes a peek, for biting and cutting, is our main task. Flanked by our fellow soldiers, the canines four of them, standing sharp as a blade, come to our aid when we fail, to slice and tear .

Our brothers in arms, the premolars are right behind, eight in all. After our cutting and mincing, they wait ready to chew and grind. Finally the twelve molars distributed equally on either side, like mortars in waiting, further crush and grind, to make consumption easy. What you consider a simple task, chewing and eating is by no means child’s play. Therefore, our armour of enamel, is by far, stronger than any bone .

Thirty two strong we stand, sheltered by a set of lips, that at times, is decorated in colours most wild . When they part in a smile, displaying our beaming selves, we bring great joy to those around us. But with age, we grow old, the mastication slows down, the smile becomes less brilliant. The gleaming white, fades to a dull yellow, we lose our edge as we become worn and thin.

We are not so tightly packed anymore. There are gaps in the ranks, chinks in the armour, cracks that are formed, which the enemy exploits. Rushing in, they lodge themselves, and attack us from within. Those slippery ones they call bacteria, are soon knocking us down. It is with sorrow, we bid farewell, to our brothers, as we cave in, as we succumb, each in his time.

The thirty two strong, soon destroyed, we fall, mangled, with a thud . Debilitated by age and wear, the weakened line of men, are no longer strong or effective. Each passing one, we grieve, awaiting our turn. Though thwarted, with fortitude, we continue, to discharge our duty, until the last man standing.